Stories
by Reader in the Corner
Summary: Irene is a writer, a vampire as well. Being friends with the Cullens, she meets interesting people. But she didn't expect this. She wouldn't have wanted it if she had.
1. Chapter 1

**Stories**

_Ring ring_.

What? Oh, curse that phone. If this is that demented fan again I don't know what I'll do, I thought as I picked up the phone. This call had best be worth stopping my story.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Hello, Ms. Tiova? This is Ralph Smith."

The agent person. Why is he calling?

"Hello Ralph. I thought I had asked you to call me Irene." I've had quite enough formality in my life already, thank you. "Is anything wrong?"  
"Nothings wrong, M- Irene. We have an idea to help promote your books. Would you like to have a tour?"

A tour of what? "What do you mean, a tour?" I asked.

"A tour is when a writer travels around the country doing interviews and book signings to promote their books. The publishers would pay for travel and accommodations. Would you be interested?"

He didn't mention food. So he remembered my little eccentricity about only eating food I prepare myself and eating alone. Even my imagination failed to predict how Ralph, the meekest agent in the publishing industry, would react to seeing what I really eat. Hunting down a deer or few in the forest and drinking their blood... what a sight his reaction would be. "Where would I be travelling?" Lets see if he remembered my other quirk about staying out of direct sunlight. I had a good excuse for that. A medical condition that required me to stay out of the sun for my own safety. False, of course. That would be another interesting reaction, if Ralph saw my skin sparkle. That was my real reason for staying out of the sun. Direct sunlight makes me look like I'm made of diamond dust.

"It's not final until you agree, but the plan is to visit Seattle, possibly Sacramento, Detroit, New York and maybe other cities between them." He remembered my quirk.

"How long will this trip last?" I wanted to know.

"Two, maybe three months."

"I'd like some time to think about it, I'll call you back."

"Thank you very much, Irene." He said and hung up.

I spun my chair around, ignoring the writing on the computer screen in front of me. A tour. It could be interesting. I haven't done one before.

Interviews and book signings though, could be a problem. It wouldn't do for someone who saw me decades ago to see me now, unchanged by time. Being a vampire makes me immune to time, but the humans couldn't know that. The last few decades I've spent in my various houses hidden in the forests, away from people. No recent witnesses. Before that I was in Canada. A sixty-year-old Canadian is hardly likely to be at a book signing for a recent popular American writer.

There are other vampires that know my face. The Cullens are near Seattle now. They're not likely to raise a fuss, if they even come. Like me, they feed on animals. It doesn't hurt that I have been a friend of their's for years.

The nomad vampires I've met do not share my views on food for the most part, and aren't likely to stop at a book signing. They wouldn't be a problem.

There was Annalee though.

I first met Annalee when I was human and my name was still Elizabeth Copper, in England about 300 years ago. Her brother, Anthony, was the leader of their coven of vampires then. Anthony changed me. I hated him for it. My life wasn't great, but I had been happy living with Father. Once I was changed I could never see him again. He would have seen the difference in me.

I had never been pretty. My hair and eyes were plain brown; I had freckles and a tan, a snub nose and an almost unnoticeable figure. I had been taught to read, write, business, and basic fighting by my father, an eccentric, ex-soldier/scholar. Those unforgivable signs of unladylike behavior had made me extremely unattractive to the local matrons seeking brides for their sons. I had made it to thirty years of age without marrying and was quite content to live out my life a spinster.

After my change my skin was pure white and I was beautiful. I escaped from their coven as soon as I could. They didn't stop me. My  
gift, writing, was useless to them. I can¹t say what attracted their attention that Anthony changed me in the first place. It wasn't my newfound beauty. All vampires are beautiful, next to Annalee, I looked commonplace. I left England and began feeding on animals instead of humans. I had killed enough for one life before it occurred to me that there was an alternative. After I died and left England, I began learning to fight. I took lessons from people who would keep their mouths shut on some of the stranger things about me. When I felt I had learned enough, I went back to England. I killed Anthony. It wasn't as hard as I had expected. He didn't count me a threat. When I asked to meet him, he came alone.

Killing a vampire is difficult. They need to be torn in pieces and burned to be truly killed. That rules out suicide for the more depressed.  
Annalee has hated me ever since I killed him.

She had gathered a new coven, last time I saw her. She didn't attack me then, she has no idea how far my fighting skills go. She roams, and I never know where I'll see her next. She might see me on the tour. If she has gathered a large enough coven by now to make her brave she might attack me.

It's a small chance, I think. For all I know, she's still in Europe. I'll meet new people. At least some of them should be interesting enough to use as characters. I'll do it.

I pick up the phone. "Ralph, its Irene. I'd like to do a tour."

"You would? Great!" I hear over the phone. Poor boy, does he have  
anything else in his life? "I'll tell the others. I'll call you back when  
we've finalized the dates and places."

"Perfect. Thanks."

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o

**Author's Note: This is simply the first chapter. If anyone is interested, I will post the rest of it. Many thanks to my beta ver, a.k.a. vvchan.**

**Disclaimer: I have no legal rights to Twilight. Anything you recognize from that is not my invention.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Many apologies for the first time I put this chapter up, I'll try to be more careful. **

**Please excuse the formatting, it's a long story involving the old computer I write on and the newer one that has internet.**

**Disclaimer: I have no legal rights to Twilight.**

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The Seattle skyline. Pale clouds hide the sun, giving me the freedom to  
walk under the sky. As my driver dodges the car through traffic to the  
hotel, I watch the scenes we pass. Early in the afternoon, there were few  
cars to dodge on the streets away from the business district. The only  
pedestrians where tourists walking in groups to the local sights. I see a  
sign advertising my presence at the hotel.  
I¹ve been on tour for three weeks already. I feel I deserve a vacation  
from fawning fans. The last time I heard from Carlisle Cullen, he had  
settled in Forks, Washington. Near enough for me to drive there easily.  
Ralph met me at the hotel. ³Is everything alright Irene?² he asked  
nervously. I was beginning to wonder if being a successful writer¹s agent  
was really the best job for him. I¹d chosen him to be my agent as a favor.  
He seemed to need a good writer to help his reputation, but maybe it hadn¹t  
been such a good idea if he was always this unsure of himself.  
³It¹s fine, Ralph.² I tried smiling to calm him down. ³I think I¹ll take  
to weekend off, go see some places I¹ve heard about.² He opened his mouth,  
but I cut him off. ³You don¹t need to send someone to drive me. I have a map  
that I can read quite well. I¹ll be fine. I¹ll leave now, and be back on  
Monday.² I squashed a moment¹s guilt about not informing him of my plans  
before the hotel room was paid for. It comes of a thrifty upbringing, I  
suppose.  
For a moment Ralph looked dazed. Then he blinked and seemed to reorient  
himself. ³Um, sure. What about your appointments?²  
³I only have one scheduled for this weekend, I¹ll see them Monday  
morning when I get back. The book signing isn¹t until late Monday morning,  
I¹ll be back before then.² It¹s not as if a suspicious Ofellow¹ author or  
annoying fan was anything urgent.  
³I¹m sure you can explain to the others, can¹t you Ralph?² There is that  
dazed look again. This time, when he surfaces, he looks nervous. That boy  
needs some self confidence.  
³Uh, I suppose so.² It will probably help that he and most of the staff  
sent along are in awe of me.  
³Thanks so much.² My bags aren¹t unloaded yet, so I sweep directly from  
the hotel back to the car.  
I stay safely under the speed limit until I¹m on the deserted highway,  
out of sight. The speedometer inches up as I indulge my taste for speed.  
Most vampires I know share that taste.

The road from Seattle to Forks doesn¹t take me more than a few short  
hours. That probably had to do with the fact that I was driving twice the  
speed limit.  
I had known the Cullens for many years. I didn¹t bother to keep track of  
exactly how many. I had met Carlisle, the ³father,² a few years before he  
changed his wife, Esme. Carlisle Cullen is a very unusual vampire. He has  
spent most of his time since death in perfecting his self-control. Now human  
blood hardly bothers him. The reason for this unusual obsession is that  
Carlisle Cullen is extremely compassionate. In other words, he has an  
extremely soft heart. He couldn¹t abide the thought of killing humans for  
food. His chosen profession is doctor. I find it an amusing choice, not  
least because he is saving lives that nature tells him to end. My other  
reason is this. Vampires have extremely cold skin, compared to humans. We  
have no body heat. I have heard patients complain many times about how cold  
doctor¹s fingers are. That complaint must help him when patients shiver at  
his touch as he examines them. Some of the younger female patients might  
have other reasons for shivering. He is very handsome.  
He looks young for a doctor. He appears to be in his late twenties.  
Really, he is somewhere around three-hundred and fifty years old. He knows  
the exact count. The Cullens celebrate birthdays. I don¹t even know my own  
age, so I¹m excused from forgetting his.  
Esme Cullen is also young and beautiful. She is very maternal and  
loving, the perfect mother. She and Carlisle act as mother and father to the  
others. They are their parents in every sense but biologically.  
There are five younger Cullens. Edward was Carlisle¹s only child when I  
first met them. He is the youngest seeming, sixteen, perhaps. His talent is  
mind reading. That likely contributes to his rather complex character. I  
still haven¹t figured him out enough to base a character off of him  
accurately.  
The other four are couples. Rosalie and Emmett are together, and Jasper  
and Alice. They are all adopted and Jasper and Rosalie use the last name  
Hale instead of Cullen, so it is not quite as shocking to the human  
inhabitants of the small towns they pass through as it could be. They never  
stay long. A few years at most. Humans might notice that they never age,  
though they can pretend to be high school students  
Alice sees the future in visions. When not seeing visions, she is  
amazingly cheerful and graceful, even for a vampire. Graceful for a vampire,  
in any case. There are many vampires who are certainly not cheerful. Jasper  
can sense and control emotions. Inconvenient when I¹m trying to hide my  
reaction to something, but very useful when the others are getting angry.  
Edward¹s mind reading already rules out secrets though, so it¹s not much of  
a loss. Jasper is newest to their life of feeding on animals, and so has  
trouble abstaining from human blood at times.  
Rosalie could easily be a stunning model. She looks the part with blonde  
hair and a full figure, though she is as deathly pale as any vampire. Once  
you get to know her, you notice something else more. She is incredibly  
stubborn. An odd combination, she works on cars as well as her own beauty.  
Emmett is quite intimidating the first time you meet him. He is very  
large, with the obvious strength to match it.  
All together, the Cullens are the closest thing to a family I have.  
I had been to their current house in Forks once before and found the  
turn off from the highway without much trouble. I parked my car beside  
theirs, noting that their collection of fast cars had grown.  
I walked up to the front door and opened it without knocking. No need to  
knock when Edward could hear my thoughts coming. I stopped in shock just  
inside the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Usual Disclaimer: Fanfiction writers do not own most of their material.**

**Again, please excuse the formatting.**

**...♣...**

A human had just run into the Cullen¹s front room. Edward followed  
just behind her. She had stopped as soon as she saw me. He wrapped his arms  
around her from behind. His lips drew back over sharp teeth and he growled  
at me. The growl broke me out of my shock. Edward, who was as close to me as  
a nephew, had just growled at me.  
³Shall I pretend I never saw her Edward?² I asked softly. The rest of  
the Cullens had rushed into the room when they heard his growl. They stood  
staring at the three of us in shock. Jasper should be getting quite enough  
of that particular emotion, I thought distantly. Carlisle walked stiffly  
from the gathering near the stairs to Edward.  
The girl had been glancing worriedly from one frozen vampire to another.  
Carlisle touched Edward gently on the shoulder. ³Edward, relax. Its Irene.  
See her eyes.² he coaxed. Thank goodness I had hunted on my way up. My eyes  
were now the gold of any animal eating vampire. The same gold as the  
Cullens.  
Edward slowly relaxed. He glanced down at the girl in his arms, then  
looked at me. ³I apologize, Irene. I didn¹t hear you and Bella has a talent  
for attracting trouble. I didn¹t think.²  
³Apology accepted,² I replied promptly. ³May I sit down? It sounds like  
a story hangs from this.² Edward half-smiled at my reference to my passion  
for writing.  
Carlisle took charge. ³Of course you may Irene. Sit down and I will  
introduce the two of you.² We all at down. Edward kept the girl beside him  
and I sat across from them. Carlisle spoke, ³Irene this is Bella, Edward¹s  
girlfriend. Bella, this is Irene, an old friend of ours.²  
³Pleased to meet you, Bella² I said. I was grinning. This should make  
for an interesting story.  
Edward interrupted. ³Irene, you are not going to use our story in one of  
your books.²  
I held up my hands in surrender. ³Fine, I promise not to. May I please  
hear it? I would very much like to know how it is that you are dating a  
human, as pretty as she may be.²  
(Author¹s note: here Edward basically tells Irene a short version of  
Twilight.)  
I listened carefully as Edward told me how he had met Bella in biology  
class, nearly torn her throat out because of her scent, saved her life a few  
times and fallen in love with her. When he tried to explain his fascination  
with Bella, he asked me, ³Have you ever found a human with a scent that  
seemed absolutely incredible to you, Irene? So wonderful you could barely  
restrain yourself?²  
I shook my head. I looked at the two of them and thought, I¹m glad I  
haven¹t. I don¹t need to have my life turned upside down. I¹m sure Edward  
heard, but he didn¹t answer my thought. Several times, something he said  
would make Bella blush and he would look down at her rosy face and smile. He  
could barely bring himself to speak of James. When he finished, I thought  
for a moment then asked, ³How long was it between when you met and you fell  
in love?²  
Bella answered. ³About two months, but for most of it he was ignoring me  
for my own good.² I nearly laughed, but stopped at the looks on their faces.  
Both seemed completely absorbed by the other, though Bella seemed slightly  
irritated.  
Alice caught the look on my face. ³What do you find so funny, Irene?²  
Edward and Bella looked up.  
I grinned. ³A bit of a whirlwind romance, wasn¹t it? From ignoring each  
other to hopelessly in love in two months, possibly less.²  
Bell smiled. ³Less, I couldn¹t ignore him.²  
The other Cullens laughed. I spoke to Bella, ³Could you tell me more  
about yourself? I¹d like to know what sort of girl could fall in love with a  
vampire, no offence intended.²  
Edward muttered, ³One with almost no sense of self preservation.² We all  
laughed. Even Bella, with her less sensitive hearing, had heard him as he  
spoke nearly into her ear. She was less amused.  
Once the laughter died down, I tried talking to Bella again. ³Tell me  
about yourself maybe? I like understanding people.²  
³So you can put them in your books,² Emmett joked.  
³Yes. I admit it. You, Emmett are in what is currently one of the best  
selling books in the nation. Actually,² I paused, ³most of you are in that  
book. I had trouble separating you.² This started a round of questions about  
the book, but I waved them off. ³I¹ll tell you about it later. I¹d like to  
hear Bella before Edward sneaks her away from me. A character with no sense  
of self preservation sounds promising.² For humor, if nothing else.  
Through the rest of an interesting two hours I learned that Bella also  
was appallingly clumsy, which caused any number of injuries to herself and  
others. It was almost to the point where she should be counted legally  
disabled. Something that became increasingly apparent was the length of  
Bella and Edward¹s love for each other. I hadn¹t realised that two people  
could be that infatuated with each other anywhere outside a book. The other  
Cullens loved their partners, but I was used to that. They had been together  
for years.  
Edward glared at my mental comment, but said nothing. He didn¹t need to.  
³Promising for what?² Bella asked.  
I hesitated a moment. Edward smoothly filled in. ³She is an author  
Bella. She¹s thinking about the drama she can write.² I wasn¹t really, but  
it was better than telling Bella it was for humor.  
³Stop dazzling me, Edward² Bella muttered. I assumed dazzling was what  
she called it when he distracted her by running strands of her hair between  
his fingers and staring in her eyes from an inch away. She was leaning  
against him. ³If she¹s going to base a character off me, I¹d like to know  
why.² She looked at my face and added, ³It doesn¹t look like she is planning  
to write drama.²  
Too late, I realized I was grinning again. I tried to rein in my smile.  
I would have to be careful about what my face showed. I wasn¹t used to  
watching myself around the Cullens. ³I was thinking of comedy, actually,² I  
offered.  
Emmett snorted and started to laugh. Bella blushed very slightly.  
I was mystified. What had Bella done already that was so funny? ³Fill me  
in on the joke, please?²  
Bella blushed more. ³I¹m really clumsy. I fall down alot, which Emmett  
always thinks is funny.²  
³I¹m sure Edward catches you.² I drawled smiling. He was holding a hand  
against her red cheek, savoring the warmth I¹m sure. His smile towards her  
was warm as well.  
³When he¹s there,² Bella admitted. I noticed a faint bruise on her head  
then.  
³Does he leave often?² I inquired. I hadn¹t thought that likely, given  
how much attention he was spending on her.  
³I can¹t take her hunting Irene.² Edward said sarcastically.  
³That would only take, what, a day or two? How did you manage to bruise  
yourself in that small a time frame?² I was surprised.  
³Anything is possible when it comes to Bella,² Alice said.  
³If Edward wasn¹t there, how often would you bruise yourself?² Was the  
bruise when he went hunting simply a matter of luck?  
³Every day I have gym.² Bella muttered.  
³That bruise didn¹t come from gym,² Edward reminded her.  
³Where did it come from then?² I asked.  
³I was just walking to my truck,² Bella frowned down at a piece of  
Edward¹s sleeve she was holding.  
³What did you trip over?² Walking to your truck isn¹t that dangerous.  
Bella blushed. ³I don¹t know.²  
³You don¹t know what you tripped over? How fast were you going?² I was  
still interrogating her. How drastic was her clumsiness problem? The Cullens  
around us were smiling.  
³I was just walking.² Bella looked up. ³Knowing me, I tripped on air.  
Things like that often happen to me. I¹m really clumsy.²  
³You walked into a wall the other day.² Edward said smiling, He looked  
at Bella as he spoke.  
³You were distracting me.² Bella cried, burying her face in his shirt.  
Too soon, Bella had to leave. Her father had imposed a curfew since the  
adventure in Phoenix left her with a broken leg and a few other injuries. I  
answered questions about my book and my reason for visiting so suddenly,  
then heard Edward¹s car return to the house. To my surprise, no Edward  
entered. I asked the Cullens, ³If that was Edward¹s car, where is Edward?²  
Alice smiled. ³He spends the night with Bella. He runs back there in a  
few minutes every day, then comes back in the morning and drives back to  
spend the day with her without anyone seeing something strange.² I raised my  
eyebrows at that. ³You read too many books,² Alice giggled.  
³Who can blame me? I¹m a writer.² I replied.  
I spent two days visiting with the Cullens. These visits are the only  
times I don¹t have to hide that fact that I am a vampire. I can be myself,  
as much as I ever am.  
I left early Monday morning. Vampires don¹t sleep, so it was no problem  
to leave so early. A hug and kiss on the cheek for Esme and Carlisle, hugs  
for the girls, and handshakes for Jasper, Emmett and Edward. He had left  
Bella sleeping to see me off.  
³Best of luck to all of you,² I wished them as I got in the car. I drove  
off, leaving the comfortable world of companionship for my daily life among  
humans.


	4. Chapter 4

**I have no legal rights to Twilight.**

**A/N: If I make another stupid mistake like the first chapter 2, please tell me. I need to know what I can do better.**

...♦...

A few weeks later, another hotel. This hotel suite had a front room with a desk and chairs for my guests to sit. My next interview was in just a few minutes. It was with another author visiting this town and had been scheduled as soon as the tour was finalized. It was important enough that I had dressed formally, with a robin's-egg-blue blouse, skirt and low heeled shoes. A sliver charm bracelet was on my wrist. I was writing a rough draft for a short story as I waited.

The door opened. Ralph came in first, ushering in the man I was to meet. He stepped in, but left the path to the door clear. With Ralph's introduction, air sweeps a scent toward me. A mouthwatering aroma hits me. It reminds me of the savory tastes I loved as a human. Rosemary and basil, a hint of cinnamon as well as something completely unique that makes me long for more. I jerk my head up. I can't hear a word Ralph is saying. My senses are riveted on the source of that smell. I notice every detail of his appearance, every sound he makes as he moves. Most of all, I notice the most savory, delicious scent I have ever encountered. It reminds me again and again of the smell of food. Delicious dishes I once tasted, seasoned with herbs that made me savor every bite. This scent, too, makes me want to eat. To bite the human standing before me and savor the sweet taste of his blood.

I start making plans on how to lure him to me, kill him, get him alone. How to get that delectable blood and drink until every drop is gone. I can't stand it. A few more seconds and I know I will lose control. I last fed a week ago. I stand up unsteadily. Ralph is still talking. I say something to excuse my self. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel well." I rush out the door, not bothering with human speed. I pass within inches of him.

Once I'm away from that mind numbing smell my head clears. I slow down, walking only as fast as a human now. Leaving the hotel, I thank heaven that the door was not blocked. If I had been hungry...but I was hungry. I shouldn't be, a week was not very long for me. When I thought of that intoxicating scent, however, all I could feel was hunger. Hunger for the blood that smelled so wonderful. That scent, urging me to taste it, the wonderful sensation of warm blood flowing down my throat, made even more attractive by the thought of that herb-like taste adding to my predatory love of blood. A gourmet dish I could hardly resist. When I last fed meant nothing. I growled  
to myself, careful that I wasn't loud enough for the humans to hear. All because of that accursed scent. My eyes are probably pitch black now.

I forge my way past the humans on the street. There is a park in this town. The air should be clear there. I inhale deeply, trying to concentrate on the everyday smells around me. Not a very good idea. There are humans near me. If only I could forget that scent. I won't, I know. I could never forget anything that incredibly delicious. I can't even get it out of my head for a moment. My mind won¹t let go of it.

The gray concrete and colored clothes around me are merely background. What I see has nothing to do with them. I see the man who stepped in with Ralph. The one with the horribly appetizing blood. Brown hair, with a hint of red. Green eyes, flecked with amber. His face and arms tanned by the sun. A dark orange formal shirt, with the top button undone. Mahogany colored pants. Dark leather shoes, well polished. The cluster of papers in one hand, a pen in the other. Strong hands, for a human. I could kill him easily.

I collapse onto a bench. The park is nearly empty in the morning. A breeze ruffles the hair that escaped from my bun. I become aware of my surroundings again. Try as I might, I can't stop thinking about him. He is slightly taller than me. We are the same height when I wear shoes with heels. Close to the age I appear. Maybe younger. He must think I'm crazy. As soon as I saw him I ran out. Surely they didn't believe what I said about feeling unwell. It was remarkably sudden. They would wonder why I had left the hotel instead of staying in my own room.

I can't go back. If there is any possibility of seeing him again, I need to hunt. Is this what Edward asked me about when he explained about himself and Bella? It is a miracle that she is still alive, if this is how he feels about her.

This is crazy. I flee from my own hotel room because of some man's scent. Who is he, anyway? I remember who I was scheduled to meet then. I groan inwardly. There goes the last possibility of ever tasting his blood. I can't kill him. The man I was scheduled to meet today is Arthur Dellan.

Arthur Dellan is a writer.

Writing is my life. I respect Arthur Dellan as a fellow master of my art. I can't take such a writer away from the world. There are few enough great writers as it is. Sharing writing is the reason I risk exposure time and time again to be an author.

I take out my cell phone. I dial Ralph's number. A recording answers, asking me to leave a message. Perfect. I try to sound unwell without sounding false. "Ralph, it's Irene. I need a break. I'm going to drive to a friend's house. They'll take care of me. I'll meet you at the next stop. Tell the people I'm scheduled to meet that I will call them when I get back." I hang up.

I go back to the hotel and get my car without seeing anyone I recognize.  
I drive off, quickly leaving the town behind. I head north, to the Cullens.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Once again, please excuse the wierd formatting. I hate new computers that don't accept floppy disks. This chapter is incredibly long because instead of giving you bit of the story, I'm just giving you everything I haven't posted yet. This was all written before I posted the first chapter, yes you can be annoyed because I simply didn't post it. There will be no more, I no longer like this story. I haven't deleted this story yet because one person was wonderful enough to favorite it.**

**_Please review_. Tell me what you think or better yet TELL ME IF I MAKE A MISTAKE.**

* * *

I knock on the front door this time. Esme answers. Her eyes widen when  
she sees me. I realize that I must look like a wreck after my experience and  
wearing the same clothes walking then driving. ³Esme, don¹t worry. I came  
because I wanted some advice.² She calms down, but only slightly. It is not  
like me to ask for advice from anyone. She quickly ushers me in and calls  
for the others.  
³When did you last eat Irene?² Her tone is worried. My eyes must look  
black still.  
³Um, a little over a week ago, I think. That doesn¹t matter. Is Edward  
here?² I¹m impatient to talk to him.  
Edward walks in then, a frown on his face. ³Calm down Irene. I can¹t  
make any sense of what you are thinking.²  
³Sorry,² I say sheepishly. I try to replay the event in my mind  
coherently enough for him to understand. He does.  
The rest of the family is looking from Edward to me and back again.  
Carlisle speaks first. ³I¹m sorry to interrupt Edward, but we don¹t share  
your ability. Would one of you please tell us what is going on. It is  
unusual for you to visit us twice a year Irene, though I¹m not complaining.²  
³I apologize Carlisle. I haven¹t been thinking straight. The last time I  
was here, Edward asked me if I had ever met a human with particularly  
appetizing blood.² Carlisle nods, he remembers. ³I met one the other day. It  
threw me off balance, in a way. Edward had asked me about it, so I came to  
ask him.²  
³Why don¹t you just kill him?² Emmett asked. We all stare at him. ³I¹m  
not saying that would be a good thing, but it would be the simplest solution  
if he¹s bothering you so much.²  
Massaging my temples with my fingers, I reply, ³I can¹t.²  
³Why not?²  
I erupt. ³He is a writer! Arthur Dellan is one of the best writers  
alive! I can¹t kill him!² The Cullens look stunned. Small wonder, I¹m  
usually even tempered. I sigh. ³I¹m sorry, but I won¹t kill him. I¹m not  
quite sure why I came. I suppose I just needed to talk to someone. I¹ve  
already made plans to avoid him.²  
Esme comes over and sits beside me. A wave of serenity drowns my  
turmoil. I look up and smile. ³Thank you Jasper.² He smiles in return.  
I stay for nearly an hour. By the time I leave, I¹m calm without needing  
Jasper¹s influence.  
I start the car, but stop with the key in the ignition. Where was I  
supposed to go next? ³Olympia,² Edward supplies. I wonder how he knew that.  
³I looked at the newspaper.² That must be a first. We all laugh as I drive  
off.

I meet Ralph at the hotel in Olympia. He is worried, but calms slightly  
when he sees me. He was waiting outside the hotel. I don¹t ask him how long  
he has been there, I would probably end up embarrassing him.  
He gives me the numbers of the people I missed in the last town.  
Quickly, he fills me in on my schedule. Interview at nine, book signing from  
one to four, another interview at five. It is seven in the morning now, I  
have plenty of time to call people. I¹ll wait until eight, though, just to  
be sure they are awake.  
Eight-thirty, I¹ve called everyone on the list except for Arthur Dellan.  
I dial the number slowly, double checking that every key is correct before I  
push it. Still, I can¹t put it off any longer. Or I could, until he picks up  
the phone.  
³Hello?² A mellow baritone voice.  
³Hello, Arthur Dellan? This is Irene Tiova.² I speak confidently, hiding  
my nervousness. Why am I nervous? He is human, for goodness sake.  
³Ms. Tiova, hello! Please just call me Arthur, I¹m not used to  
formality. Are you feeling better?²  
I smile to myself, why, I don¹t know. ³Much better, thank you. And you?²  
³Very good. Do you mind if I call you back later? My brother-in-law is  
here, and he wants to go fishing.²  
His brother-in-law? Is it his sister¹s husband, or his wife¹s brother?  
³Of course not,² I say smoothly. ³I should be free after six, if you  
would like to call then.²  
³That¹d be great. I will talk to you later then, Ms. Tiova.² He hung up.  
He called me Ms. Tiova, but asked me to call him Arthur. I must have  
forgotten to ask him to call me Irene. Does it matter? Everyone else I meet  
on this tour calls me Ms. Tiova. I don¹t tolerate Miss or Mrs., but it irks  
me just as much when someone who is near me often, like Ralph, calls me Ms.  
I glance at the clock and decide to analyze myself later. For now, I had  
best change clothes for the interview.

Six in the evening, and I¹m back in my hotel room. I have nothing  
scheduled until we leave at seven in the morning tomorrow. I can¹t spend the  
time sleeping, as intended. What to do for thirteen hours until then?  
The phone rings and answers my question. ³Hello.² I say, the phone  
beside my ear.  
³Ms. Tiova? It¹s Arthur.² Now I know what I will be doing tonight.  
Dissecting my reactions to him. Probably not healthy, but it will pass the  
time. Now to draw this conversation out as long as I can.  
³Arthur, hello. Please call me Irene. How did your fishing trip go?²  
Ugh, I sound completely artificial.  
³Most of it went well.²  
³What didn¹t?² He hadn¹t sounded angry, it sounded like he had been  
laughing.  
³It¹s a bit of a long story.²  
³I¹ll wait to hear it then. Did you have any questions planned for the  
interview?²  
³No,² he sounded surprised. ³Did you?²  
Now I¹m surprised. ³No, I didn¹t. I thought you would be interviewing  
me.²  
³I thought the same,² he says with a laugh. I love his laugh the moment  
I hear it. Not a good sign.  
³I don¹t really have anything to talk about then. Do you?² I ask.  
³Not really. Unless you have time for a very involved fishing story.²  
³I have thirteen hours until I¹m due to reappear, and I have no  
intentions of sleeping soon. I think that¹s enough time.²  
³I don¹t think my story is that long, but it might grow longer.² For the  
next hour I listen to a retelling of the various accidents his  
brother-in-law caused while in contact with oars, a fishing rod, fishing  
line, hooks, a boat, water, and live fish. To top it off, a thunder storm  
had hit while they were in the middle of the lake. ³Blame Michael,² Arthur  
had explained, ³I was taking a nap.² He awoke from his nap when Michael, his  
brother-in-law, hit him in the head with an oar while trying to get the boat  
back to shore.  
Several times I asked him, ³Did he actually do that?² or, ³How could he  
manage that?² after hearing of another Michael blunder.  
³He¹s a good guy,² Arthur had summed up at the end, ³but he¹s a magnet  
for accidents.²  
I had laughed so many times while hearing him tell the story. I don¹t  
know when I last found anything this funny.  
³Has anything interesting happened to you lately?² he asked innocently.  
I froze. ³Nothing really, other than traveling on a tour.² and finding  
him, the human with the most appetizing scent in the world and nearly  
ripping his throat out.  
I heard Arthur yawn. ³Excuse me. Do you mind if I hang up? I¹d like to  
hear you tell about traveling, but I¹m bushed. I¹m afraid I¹ll fall asleep  
while you¹re talking.²  
³It¹s fine.² I quickly reassured him. ³Thanks for talking with me. I  
don¹t think I¹ve ever heard a story quite like that before.²  
³You¹re welcome,² Arthur replied. It sounded like he was smiling at  
something. ³I enjoyed telling it. Thank you for calling. Now, I think I¹ll  
go to sleep. O Night.² He hung up.  
I stared at the phone in my hands for a few moments before setting it in  
its place. That hadn¹t been the talk I expected. He was more than a face  
and a scent now. He was a voice, a story, a human with his own family. I  
never asked him about whether he was married. That would have sounded odd, a  
woman asking if he was married, or maybe that was only in my mind. Thinking  
back, it would have been natural for me to ask if he was married. Ugh. This  
level of obsession cannot be healthy. He is human for goodness sake. I  
don¹t need to be this paranoid about what I say, I probably barely matter to  
him. He wouldn¹t notice anything as odd.  
Knowing this should have helped me forget about him, strengthened my  
resolve not to kill him. I wanted to know more, though. Everything about  
him. What did his house look like, what things did he enjoy doing, what were  
his opinions, what was his family like. I wanted to know everything about  
his life. Curiosity might not just kill the cat this time, however, it might  
kill the mouse as well.

A few days later, another long drive. It would take much less time to  
get from one place to another if the driver they gave me drove at decent  
speeds. Ninety miles per hour, for example. Seventy-five was near the edge  
of my tolerance. I glanced out the windows, but the sight of farms whose  
twins I had seen all over the country resigned me to boredom. I lost my  
fascination with fields, cows, and trees long ago.  
I let my mind drift, trying to pass the time. My thoughts settled on  
Arthur, as they had many times since meeting him. Mentally, I tried to  
wrestle my thoughts away from him, but every trail of thought I followed led  
me to him. What was he thinking while we talked? What was he smiling at,  
before he hung up? I fretted over what sort of impression I had made on  
him. Sternly, I told myself that it was of no importance what he thought of  
me. Hopefully, my thoughts added, I would never have to encounter him again.  
My feelings disagreed. Not seeing him again was certainly not something to  
be hoped for. No matter what I told myself, I couldn¹t shake the worries in  
the pit of my stomach. What if I made a bad impression? What must he have  
thought when I barely said a single intelligent comment?  
I stared firmly at the car and scenery around me to distract myself from  
feelings. It didn¹t work. For a moment my mind was empty as I gave in to  
being bored. I sighed, and pulled my cell phone out. I dialed Arthur¹s  
number without a second thought. My thoughts caught up to me when it began  
to ring. I would have slammed the phone shut, but Arthur chose that instant  
to answer.  
³Hello?² I couldn¹t hang up now without being rude, I realized. I¹d be  
mortified if he had caller ID and called me back to ask what happened.  
³Hello Arthur, it¹s Irene.² Silently I called myself a fool and idiot  
for calling him.  
³Irene, hello!² He sounded pleased. I tried to squash the hopes his tone  
created. ³How are you? I have plenty of time to talk, if you¹d like to.²  
Wonderful. He wasn¹t angry or annoyed. This grew more hopes, but I was  
too busy listening to his voice to crush them.  
³I¹m very bored.² I answered. ³Or at least I was until you answered,² I  
hastened to add. Talking to him was anything but boring. ³And you?²  
³Not at all tired.² He laughed. I smiled myself, already wondering when  
I would hear him laugh again. ³Do you have anything in mind to talk about  
this time?²  
³No, do you? I was simply nearing the edge of my boredom tolerance.²  
³No. What are you doing that¹s so boring?² he inquired.  
I glanced out the window again. ³Driving to the next stop on the tour.²  
³How long is the drive?²  
³It¹s been nearly an hour already and there are three hours left.² I  
thought of something to get him to talk. So I could hear his voice. ³Has  
Michael had anymore adventures lately?²  
Arthur laughed. The sound of his laugh made me grateful that comment had  
caught his sense of humor. I would do nearly anything to hear that sound  
again. This cannot be good for me. Why should I care that a human laughs?  
Arthur distracted me from my inner confusion by replying.  
³No new adventures. He left the day after I talked to you. Though  
packing with him might be called an adventure. It¹s amazing the places his  
clothing traveled to in a one week stay.² he said, causing me to laugh.  
I saw a possible opportunity and asked, ³You said he was your  
brother-in-law, is he your wife¹s brother?² I made sure to ask calmly, I  
didn¹t want to him think that it mattered to me.  
³No,² Arthur replied, sounding surprised. What once might have been my  
heart rose with relief. ³I¹m not married. He¹s my sister¹s husband.² He  
wasn¹t married, the knowledge made my heart even lighter. There was no other  
woman he cared about. Wait, why do I care? Does he even care about me? I  
mentally groaned and postponed my mental reprimand until there was no longer  
the option of talking to Arthur instead.  
³Do you have many siblings?² I asked.  
³Just my sister, Mary. Do you have any ?²  
³No, I¹m an only child.² The reminder of family made me think with pain  
of my father. I was the only one he had had left, my mother died when I was  
young. And I left him. No matter, I told myself briskly, he¹d be dead by now  
in any case. I heard myself continue the conversation, ³What is your sister  
like? She must be tolerant to put up with Michael.²  
³She loves it. To her, Michael¹s mishaps are endearing. She¹s fairly  
tolerant, of anything but laziness. It¹s because of her I¹m a writer. When I  
was young, I would have stopped writing a few times, but she argued with me  
until I continued writing.² He laughed and said, ³One thing you never want  
to do is make her mad. She spits fire sometimes.²  
³I hope that doesn¹t happen often,² I said, a smile in my voice. ³The  
house must be fireproof.² I cannot believe I just said that. What an idiotic  
thing to say.  
³The house is safe,² Arthur said, playing along. ³Usually she avoids the  
curtains and aims at the person she¹s made at. Though I think the carpet has  
caught fire a time or two...² We both laughed at his quick remark.  
³How has your tour been?² he asked. I was glad of another topic, though  
I would rather have listened to him.  
³Hmmm, well I suppose. I¹ve never done a tour before so I don¹t really  
know. The book signings and meetings have been packed. Alot of the people  
who came could be charitably called eccentric. They often seemed depressed  
that I wasn¹t wearing black vampireish clothes.² My books often feature  
vampires. I do know quite a bit about them. Though I¹m always careful to  
make my fictional vampires different from real ones. Someone might want to  
know how I knew about them, so I made things up from traditional vampire  
myths. The whole idea of predatory humans has dramatic potential, which is  
my main reason for using it. Not all my books featured vampires, but few  
were written in a modern world setting. Simpler to use a setting that only I  
knew.  
³I wondered about that,² Arthur chuckled. I must be one of the luckiest  
creatures alive to hear him laugh so much in one conversation. ³Some of your  
novels are dark.² The novels he referred to as dark are probably the ones  
that caused Esme to glance worriedly at me when I visited after she read  
them.  
³Who ever said that an author needs to be like her characters?² I joked.  
³No one, I hope,² Arthur said in a relieved tone. ³If we did I would be  
in an insane asylum.²  
³So we finally got around to talking about books,² I nearly muttered. It  
was, after all, the only thing we had in common.  
³Sorry, did I cause that?,² Arthur apologized. ³I¹ve usually had enough  
of talking about my books by the time they¹ve been published. That might be  
because I have about a hundred people asking me about them every time they  
see me.²  
I grinned. ³It makes sense since you publish your picture. People know  
your face, they know to ask you about the books even when you¹ve never been  
introduced.²  
³Is that why your picture is never on your books? The interview where  
you became sick was the first time I had seen your face.²  
³That¹s mostly why,² I replied. I didn¹t mention that I used a pen name  
to keep certain vampires from knowing. It would be too easy for them to find  
out information such as where I lived from the publishers. Call me paranoid  
if you like, but I don¹t want Annalee finding out where I am. It¹s bad  
enough that she might recognize my writing style.  
These somber thoughts had no place in a conversation with Arthur, so I  
laughed and said, ³I like my privacy.²  
³So do I.² he replied.  
Neither of us spoke for a few moments. I hadn¹t the slightest idea what  
to say. Arthur broke the silence first. ³Have you seen any interesting  
scenery?²  
³Yes, the mountains are quite a sight. I suppose I¹m a bit jaded to most  
of the view, I live near them.²  
OI know what you mean, I often see the Cascades myself.²  
³Really? Where are you?²  
³Home sweet home. Which for me is a few hours south from Seattle.²  
That¹s not very far from me. My present house is in the north of  
Washington. At least, not incredibly far for a vampire. I was about to  
comment on that, how he was not far from my home, when the phone began  
beeping. I checked the screen of my cell phone. No signal. I moved my hand  
to call him back, but hesitated. No, I wouldn¹t call him now, I decided. I  
needed to think. And that was impossible to do when hearing his voice. Or  
smelling his blood, I remembered, which brought my house of cards crashing  
down. For a few minutes I had forgotten about his blood. Forgotten that he  
was human, and I was a vampire. That by nature I wanted his blood. To drink  
his blood to the last drop, and in the process, kill him.  
My own mind stunned me. How could I have forgotten that? What on earth  
had I been thinking? Worrying that he liked someone else and he might think  
I was interested in whether he was married?! The most basic rule of my  
³life² for centuries had been that I was not human. My kind and theirs mixed  
as little as possible. Non- ³vegetarian² vampires already thought I was  
insane from abstaining and regularly communicating with them at all. And now  
I was thinking about Arthur like a silly girl looking for a sweetheart!  
I needed a reality check. I glared at myself in the rearview mirror. The  
driver was watching the road. My eyes weren¹t golden anymore. They were  
flat, pitch, black, reflecting my fury at my own stupidity.  
The stupidity to talk and grow attached to a human that I would kill the  
next time I encountered him. What an idiot. Even faced with the delicious  
prospect of tasting his blood, I couldn¹t make myself accept the idea of  
killing him. I could only think it in words. I avoided the meaning. Well, if  
I can¹t face killing him then I¹ll have to avoid doing it. I don¹t want to  
try and damage my sanity anymore than it has been. If I want to avoid  
killing him I have to avoid him period. A lifetime among humans had not  
prepared me for such incredible temptation. What made it worse is that I  
knew that if I ever met him, he would likely welcome me as friend, even if  
only for manner¹s sake. It would be far too easy to lure him off. He  
wouldn¹t have a chance if I gave into the temptation to kill him.  
I transferred my glare to the window in case my driver looked up. It  
would give him quite a shock if he looked up and saw my glare. It would give  
anyone a shock, I mused, seeing myself reflected in the window glass. I  
looked murderous. And I am. My predatory side smiled grimly. I can kill  
anything I want. I¹ve already murdered humans many times over. I¹ve even  
killed another vampire. Why is it that killing a human is called murder, but  
not when it¹s war, and killing an animal is not murder?  
My own curiosity will surely kill me like the proverbial cat if it keeps  
distracting me at moments like this.  
What an utter fool I am, I thought, mentally shaking my head in disgust.  
A vampire falling in love with a human. Yes, falling in love. I¹m as  
skittish as a cat around the idea of me falling in love, but based on all  
the evidence, I have. No matter how much I want to deny it. And with the one  
human who I can barely resist. Usually human blood rarely bothers me. I hunt  
enough and am practiced enough to easily ignore it. This one human, the one  
I fall in love with, had to be the one I can¹t ignore. The only one I¹ve  
ever met with a scent that completely robs me of thought. So delicious, the  
actual taste of his blood can only be imagined. Simply smelling that scent  
is nearly worth the awful struggle it takes not to kill him.  
It seems that I indulged what little human I have left in me during my  
talk with Arthur. Now I am reminded that I am first and foremost a predator.  
The scent of the driver¹s warm blood rises to my thoughts, only displaced by  
thoughts of Arthur¹s blood. It would be so easy to kill him. It would not be  
hard, I could arrange it so I had all the time in the world to savor his  
blood as it clearly was meant to be tasted. What of it if I was guilty  
afterward? I had felt guilty of things before and eventually recovered.  
Well, maybe not completely, occasional pangs of regret would pain me, but I  
had grown adept at banishing them. Why should this be different? A century  
of regret maybe, I¹ve lived through centuries already. I¹ll live through  
more.  
Underneath the arrogant thoughts I was telling myself I knew it was  
simply bravado. If it ever came time to call my bluff, I would be in an  
endless pit of misery for much longer than a century. If I had such I scar  
from killing humans I didn¹t know, and a vampire I hated, what would my soul  
look like after I killed the only thing I had loved in centuries? Destroying  
it by my own hand.  
What a fool I am to lose myself to a man I¹ve seen but once, then be  
nearly too nervous about it to even think the word love to myself. If anyone  
suggested today or yesterday that I loved Arthur, I would vehemently deny  
it. The idea is absurd, a vampire in love with a human, its prey? Then  
again, if that person was Annalee, I would always deny it, because she would  
not hesitate to kill him to hurt me. If she didn¹t kill him immediately  
after finding that he was important to me, she was likely planning something  
worse.  
How can I exist like this? I¹m a person with two sides, two faces,  
perhaps even three. And each is a near opposite of the others. I¹m a  
vampire, a predator. I was a human, and still have a human mind and soul. At  
least, I hope I still have a soul. I¹m brisk and aloof to the people I need  
to work with to have my works published, informal and friendly, though still  
nervous, with the Cullens. Who knows what I¹ll be like after more time with  
Arthur. But my vampire side won¹t allow me to be with Arthur. I can¹t deny  
it, I¹ve been a vampire for centuries and know very well what is in my own  
nature, and have accepted it, to a point. I am an immortal blood drinker.  
That part of my nature makes it impossible to be with Arthur, he is human.  
Though, I started out as a human. Perhaps he, as well, could change?  
Ugh, no, I could not do it. Even if I was able to leave him enough blood for  
him to be changed, which Carlisle could, would he want to be changed? He¹d  
likely hate me for making him into a monster if I did it without asking his  
permission. But I don¹t even know how he feels about me. Why would he say  
yes? Give up his life for a woman he barely knows who wants to turn him into  
a monster for her own selfishness?  
What am I thinking? I had decided to avoid him! Alright I will avoid  
him, I mentally pacified the indignant part of my mind. The rest of this  
train of thought is...purely academic. Strictly ³what if²s.  
I sigh softly, looking out the window for the first time in what seems  
like hours. This is getting me nowhere. The view starts to fade in my  
consciousness behind my thoughts. Instead, I examine everything that passes  
me in detail. A last resort to keep myself from thinking of him. I start  
memorizing long passages thoroughly describing every sight that flashes past  
me. At the very least, it keeps most of my mind occupied.

Home, sweet home. Nearly two weeks after I last spoke to Arthur the tour  
is over and I am home once more.  
I fall back onto my favorite chair. It¹s good to be home. I gaze around  
my living room, reluctant to get up, even to go write. The pastel blues and  
whites make it seem part of the sky. The wall I lean against is part of the  
staircase separating the living room from the kitchen and dining rooms. Even  
though I don¹t eat, all houses are built with humans in mind. The large  
table in the dining room is perfect for spreading things out.  
My eyes roam over the TV, movie collection, and music system in the  
corner. My collection of CDs stands in racks next to it. I have more in my  
office. Speaking, or thinking, of my office, getting back to my writing  
clutter is what motivates me to leave my chair.  
I bound up the stairs at my own speed, far faster than a human, Finally,  
no need to hide. The desk in my office is still covered with paper, I  
didn¹t clean it before I left. I¹ll have to do that soon, I¹ve forgotten  
what¹s under there. I would start writing, but the notebooks I used to  
collect what I wrote during the tour are still downstairs on my dining room  
table. A useful surface for setting things down, but I don¹t use it for  
anything else. I don¹t feel like running downstairs and back up now, so I  
simply start editing older things already on the computer. Every so often I  
turn my rolling chair and reach over to the bookshelf next to me. There I  
keep the dictionary, thesaurus, maps, and other things I look at while  
putting a story together.  
The window shows indigo sky and emerging stars when I finally feel like  
stopping. There are no towns nearby to block the stars with their light. I  
quickly save what I¹ve written and walk down stairs. My bags and things are  
still sitting on the table and by the door. Now is as good a time as ever to  
unpack. It¹s wonderful to run around the house at my own speed, not  
bothering to pretend I¹m human. The notebooks move from the dining room  
table to my desk. I leave them for another day, hopefully before they are  
covered up. The rest of the night is spent in straightening up the house.  
When morning comes, I¹ve cleaned as much as my patience and the house can  
stand.  
It's a beautiful day, a perfect day for me. The sky is solid gray, the  
light casts no shadows. A cool breeze blows around. A perfect day to go  
hunting. I change into older clothes, jeans and a plain shirt that I don't  
mind bloodying. It's been years since I've made a mess while hunting, but  
blood is such a pain to clean out of clothes after it dries.  
I run many miles away before I hunt. I don¹t want to over hunt the  
animals in my area. When I feel I¹m far enough away, I dine on a stray  
grizzly and herd of moose passing through. A herd now missing a third of its  
former size. Sufficiently refreshed, I run back home. In my mind, I imagine  
racing with the wind that tries to blow at my back. I win. When I no longer  
hold back my speed I feel the air against my face instead of my back. When I  
reach home and slow down, the wind once more blows my hair before me.  
I¹m in a wonderful mood. Bothersome humans and worries about my heart  
and sanity seem strange after hunting. Hunting is such an elemental part of  
my nature. The familiar surroundings make such problems seem far away as I  
relax into the person I was before the tour.  
Before I even change my clothes the phone rings. Expecting it to be  
Ralph, telling me some dry fact about sales increases, I pick it up at the  
second ring. ³Hello, Irene Tiova speaking.²  
³Hi, Irene, it¹s Arthur.²  
I don¹t know whether to rejoice or be furious. I want to talk to him,  
but I¹ve already decided to avoid him. Talking to him is not going to help  
my decision. Ignorant of my thoughts, he carries on. ³Sorry I didn¹t call  
you back earlier. After I lost your signal my editor called and I¹ve been  
busy revising. It didn¹t even occur to me to call you back until my sister  
called. That reminded me of the story and so, I called you as soon as I  
could.²  
I was speechless. How wretchedly unfair. This weak human destroys my  
peace and then carries on with his life, not even thinking of me for weeks.  
I would hang up now but for the strange delight I have in the sound of his  
voice. Already knowing I¹ll regret this later I respond. ³That¹s fine. I  
arrived home just yesterday and I¹ve spent the time unpacking.² Some of the  
time, anyway. ³How have you been?²  
³Very good, thank you. And you?²  
³As usual. It¹s good to be home. Has anything interesting happened  
lately?²  
³You could say so. Margaret, my sister, has decided that I spend too  
much time cooped up with only my books and editor to keep me company. She¹s  
planning a dinner that will take place in three weeks. The amount of time  
she gave herself to work on this is slightly frightening to me. So is the  
fact that when she called today she asked for the names of everyone in my  
address book and how I know them.²  
³It sounds like quite an ambitious project.²  
³That¹s what I¹m afraid of. She hasn¹t said much to me about it, but it  
sounds like it will have something to do with my book that came out a month  
ago. That means everyone will be there for me and I¹ll have to be the  
gracious host to everyone. I¹m tired just thinking about it.²  
³Surely it won¹t be that bad. You can invite your friends, having them  
there should lighten it.²  
³Alot of my friends are very good hearted people, so they would try to  
help, but Margaret would insure that I¹m the one acting as host. Some of my  
other friends would watch and enjoy the sight of me being over whelmed like  
that until I stated snapping at them. They often snap at me, so it wouldn¹t  
be a problem unless Margaret was around. There are a few who would come in  
and rescue me after watching for a while.²  
³It sounds like you have quite alot of friends.²  
³There aren¹t really a large number of them, but when you know every  
individual well a dozen does seems like alot.²  
We talked for two hours. Finally Arthur hung up, explaining that his  
dog, a large German Shepherd was impatient for a walk. ³Never a good idea to  
annoy such a large canine,² he said. Laughing, I agreed.  
He hung up. Once again I was alone with my thoughts. Which today were  
decidedly disgusted with me. What a pathetic creature I am, unable to even  
hang up the phone once I hear his voice. How can I avoid him when I keep  
talking to him? If I don¹t avoid him I might kill him. Selfish creature that  
I am, I can¹t bear the thought of killing him. Killing him would hurt far,  
far too much.  
For the next two and a half weeks we talk every day. Usually he calls  
me. I may not be able to hang up on him, but I can keep myself from calling  
him. I can¹t hang up because he fascinates me. Rarely do I tell about  
myself, but every day I learn something new about him. The accidents he got  
into as a child, those that his friends got into, dozens of funny stories.  
Things he likes, things he doesn¹t. He soon felt free enough to rant to me  
about whatever had annoyed him most recently. ³I would never say this to  
them of course. Thank you for putting up with it,² he would say. I didn¹t  
mind at all. Every rant helped me learn about him. Aside from that I simply  
enjoyed hearing his voice.  
A few days away from the now infamous dinner he asked, ³Do you live very  
far away, Irene?²  
Surprised, I answered as I thought. ³Not very, though too far for there  
to be a chance of seeing you at some random place.²  
³By random place you mean places like the grocery store?²  
³Yes, places like that.² As if I would ever to a grocery store.  
³If you can make it, I¹d like to invite you to the dinner party.²  
The dinner party? I hadn¹t been thinking of that at all. Could I? Ugh, I  
would be expected to eat. Human food. But seeing him...  
³Thank you very much Arthur. What time is the party?² I¹ll hunt just  
before I leave and simply cough up the food later. Hopefully I can get away  
with eating very little.  
³It¹s at six in the evening at my house, I¹ll give you the address.² I  
quickly wrote down the address as he told me, thinking. From what he had  
said before, his house was more than big enough. When his parents decided to  
find a smaller home, he had moved into the house himself. He had grown up  
there, and from the numerous stories involving it I felt I would be able to  
find my way around well enough. It would take a law abiding human around six  
hours to reach him, but I could easily make it in three, two if no one else  
was on the road. I only felt a single regret at knowing where he lived. Now  
it would be much easier to find him if I ever lost control.  
³Thank you very much Arthur. I¹ll call you back tomorrow.² I hung up the  
phone quickly, before he could protest. What had I just agreed to?  
Eating was going to be a misery. Not only can I not digest human food, I  
have to spit it back up later, it has absolutely no taste. Next to the sweet  
taste of blood, solid food was like eating dust or dirt. Even the blood of a  
squirrel would be better. Human blood was best, but since I had sworn of  
that, the blood of large predators was most satisfying. I would choose  
grizzly over squirrel in a beat of my dead heart. Given a choice between  
squirrel or human food, I would still choose squirrel. At least I wouldn¹t  
have to spit it up. Unfortunately, I was not being offered squirrel. I would  
have to eat their food, while Arthur sat at the same table most likely. What  
a contrast, the most delicious aroma imaginable, the ambrosia of the gods in  
my opinion, and I was forcing myself to choose dirt.  
However unenthusiastic I was at the thought of eating, I knew I would  
go. I couldn¹t stay away from him when he had invited me to spend an hour,  
at least, in his presence. This was going to be torture I knew, but I would  
relish every moment.  
Perhaps I should go there early, and try to accustom myself to his  
scent. Even if it did prove impossible for me to resist, I couldn¹t help  
thinking cynically, at least I wouldn¹t end up killing him in the middle of  
a crowd of humans.  
A few days later and I am driving south, towards Arthur. I am hours  
early if I was intending to go directly to the party. Instead I leave my car  
in a lonely road in the forest near his house. His home is nearly as close  
to the forest as mine, though not surrounded by it. I wait under the trees.  
I don¹t want to be seen, and the humans never notice me, walking about the  
house in their own tasks. I can smell Arthur from here. Among all the  
ordinary human scents, his stands out. I fed barely minutes before I left my  
house, but his scent still makes me hunger. Such sweet blood. My eyes are  
not black yet, merely golden brown. Still, that is darker then the light  
gold they were before I smelled him. Slipping away in the shadows, I hunt.  
Six o¹clock exactly by the clock in my car, I pull up in front of  
Arthur¹s house. My car is not the only one there, at least a dozen cars have  
been left in the driveway and grass. Striding toward the door, I know that  
I will make a good impression this time. My brown hair falls smoothly around  
my shoulders, a hint of gold where the light hits it. The sun is not out, so  
I have no need of sticking to the shadows. A red gold blouse complements my  
eyes and a golden brown skirt rustles around my legs. I hear humans talking  
inside as I ring the doorbell. Soon, footsteps walk towards the door. I can  
smell that it is Arthur and ready myself before he opens the door. He stands  
still for a moment. A moment I am grateful for as I force myself not to jump  
at him and kill him where he stands. ³Hello?² He sounds hesitant.  
³Hello Arthur, it¹s Irene. Are you all right?² He doesn¹t seem the  
confident man he sounds like when we talk on the phone.  
³Irene, hello. I¹m sorry, I didn¹t recognize you for a moment.² Why  
should you recognize me, you¹ve only seen me for an instant before this.  
³Come in, everyone is in the living room.²  
He turns away from me to lead the way to the living room. I don¹t need  
his directions, I can hear them perfectly from where I am. As he turns his  
back to me I fight the urge to kill him. He would never see me coming if I  
attacked him now.  
Instead of pouncing on hm and drinking him dry as I wish to, I follow  
him to the living room. Spread around the couches and chairs are nearly two  
dozen humans, about a third of them women. So much warm blood in the small  
room, I stop breathing long enough to regain my control. The humans are  
stunned as well. The chatter stops a moment as they look at me, the  
stranger. The men and women stare at me with different emotions. The women  
simply surprise, admiration or jealousy. Several of the men clearly show  
that those women have reason to be jealous, they don¹t stare at just my  
face.  
Breaking the quiet, Arthur introduces me. ³This is Irene Tiova.²  
A woman with Arthur¹s hazel eyes is the first to greet me. She stands up  
quickly and navigates between the guests to stand before me, her hand held  
out to shake. ³Hello Irene, I¹m Margaret.² I ignore her hand, though I don¹t  
wish to be rude. My skin is as cold and hard as marble, I don¹t want the  
humans to notice that.  
³Pleased to met you Margaret,² I reply. ³I hope I haven¹t arrived too  
late. It looks like everyone is already here.² I smile at her. Humans are so  
easily influenced, this one smile puts her and all the other humans at ease.  
Arthur is at my side, however, so I can¹t see how it affects him.  
³Let me introduce everyone to you,² Margaret turns around busily,  
forgetting the ignored handshake. Pointing from one person to another, she  
lists off names which I dutifully commit to memory. Many of the men have a  
smile or wave for me, though several of the other guests have gone back to  
their earlier conversations. The only name that interest me is Michael. A  
large man, though not from exercise, he lounges on the couch next to  
Margaret¹s empty spot, brown eyes firmly on her.  
It¹s a relief to sit down out of the range of most of the eyes. I¹m used  
to the stares my appearance earns from humans, but it nonetheless annoys me.  
The only spare seat is beside a group of women, including Margaret. Arthur  
sits on the other side of the room. I don¹t know whether to be glad about  
that or not. His scent is less overwhelming, but I can¹t talk to him.  
One of the women near me interrupts my musing by asking, ³Are you the  
author Irene Tiova? Sorry it¹s such a stupid question,I know it¹s not a  
common name, but I didn¹t just want to assume that you were.²  
Predictably, she has started the easiest subject to ask a writer about:  
their work.  
³Yes, I do write under my own name. There are stranger surnames, though  
mine is a bit obscure.² As intended, that remark set off a discussion of  
various obscure and odd surnames, which gradually change into reminiscing  
about various amusing incidents in the past, usually involving people with  
memorable surnames. I was able to sit out of most of the conversation while  
still putting in a remark now and then.  
Nearly half an hour later, Margaret glanced at the clock and stood up.  
Making her excuses, the food needed to be made, last minute preparations as  
they knew, she left the circle of chairs. Pausing behind me, my throat  
tightened with the warm blood so close, she touched my shoulder to get my  
attention. ³Would you mind helping me prepare dinner, Irene?²  
³Of course not.² Smoothly I stood up, following her to the kitchen.  
Hopefully I would be able to remember how to cook. In the kitchen , the  
conversation was only a murmur. Deftly washing her hands, and motioning for  
me to do the same, Margaret slid out a cutting board and knife, pulling out  
the vegetables to be cut for last minute cooking and salads. ³Mince the  
garlic please, Irene.² Comfortably settled at the counter with a simple  
task, I watched as she went from bowl to skillet, several things going at  
once. Sliding meat into the oven, sauteing vegetables while stirring a  
sauce, it was wonderful to watch. I had forgotten that humans could be so  
efficient.  
As she worked she talked. ³I don¹t think that I've read any of your  
books, Irene. I don¹t recognize your name anyway. Did you meet Arthur at a  
writer¹s convention?² She was obviously the older sibling.  
³It¹s no problem that you haven't read my books. A bit of a relief  
actually, people usually try to talk about that. No, I didn¹t met Arthur at  
a convention.² As the garlic at last surrendered and I was left with a pile  
of tiny garlic pieces the tray was slide away from me and a tray of  
mushrooms left in its place.  
³Where did you meet him then?² She was determined and curious.  
³We were scheduled to have a interview with each other in Seattle, but I  
became ill at the last moment and had to cancel. I called him to make up for  
the interview and we simply kept calling each other back and forth.²  
³So he hasn't seen you before?² The thought amused her. Her eyes skimmed  
over my appearance.  
³Only for an instant. Do you think I should have warned him?²  
She laughed. ³No, it was good to see him startled for once. He usually  
takes things so calmly, as if he¹s marking it down on some mental list to  
write about later. Sometimes I think he laughs at funny things because  
he¹s thinking about telling them to someone else. I enjoyed seeing him come  
to the level of someone who lives life, instead of writing about it. You  
probably don¹t know what I¹m talking about, being a writer yourself. Or  
maybe you would know, and it¹s simply Arthur being himself that he doesn¹t  
understand what I mean.²  
³It must be Arthur. I understand, I think.² I hadn¹t thought of Arthur  
as someone so distanced from how Margaret saw the normal world. He seemed  
remarkable alive to me whenever we talked.  
I heard footstpes in the hall, walking towards the kitchen. They were  
too low for a human to hear, so I said nothing. From the strengthening  
scent, how delicious, it was Arthur. How ironic, I¹m in a kitchen and Arthur  
is coming towards me.  
Oblivious, Margaet carried on. ³He¹s always been slightly strange,  
living more in words than what was going on around him. He never said a word  
to me about talking to you until he said you were coming to the dinner. At  
the last minute, of course. I wish he had told me sooner, if he had we  
wouldn¹t be doing so much last minute preparation. Not that it¹s your fault  
of course, I¹m very glad you came.²  
³Hello Maraget, Irene.² Arthur strolled into the kitchen. ³Did I hear my  
name a few sentences ago?²  
³It must have been that imagination of yours,² Margaret said  
dismissively. ³We have more to talk about than you.² I remembered enough  
from my first meeting with Bella to keep my face impassive, as if it was the  
truth.  
³You wound my pride.² Arthur declared dramatically. After saying that,  
he perched on a stool at the end of the counter. Near me. I breathed  
shallowly and concentrated on Margaret as he watched her bustle around the  
kitchen.  
Finally I found my voice. Long for me, a mere moment for the humans.  
³Dramatic are we?² I asked, my tone sarcastic.  
³But of course,² Margarte replied, playing along. ³Why else would he  
write books with such dramatic happenings. It satisfies his inner drama  
while he lives here like a hermit.²  
³I am not a hermit, Margaret. I¹m only five miles away from town, for  
goodness sake. Gerald is here too.² Gerald was his dog.  
Speaking of dogs, I smelled one outside the kitchen door. The door was  
open, the dog could easily come inside. This should be interesting.  
³Having a German shepherd is not the same as human comany. You can have  
a hundred dogs and still be a hermit, the way you live.²  
³Margartet...² Arthur sighed. ³I am perfectly happy here. Gerald is  
very good company. Speak of the devil,² a black nose began to open the door.  
I watched the moving door warily. How would I explain the animal¹s  
reaction to me? Only a dog with all its survival instincts bred away would  
willingly be near me. When it rounded the door, the dog looked scared to  
death at the sight of me. I don¹t suppose my expression was too friendly  
either. Margaret and Arhur had stopped to watch the door open. Arthur saw my  
expression. ³What¹s wrong Irene?²  
³I don¹t like dogs.² I said dryly, looking at the specimen in front of  
us. My voice knocked it out of its shock. Confirming my fears, it turned  
tail and ran outside. ³And dogs don¹t like me,² I finished with a shrug.  
³You never mentioned that before.² Arthur informed me reproachfully.  
³You never asked,² I replied with a smile.  
³Why don¹t you like dogs Irene?² I beginning to become irritated with  
Margaret. The reminder of what I was had stripped away my good mood. I  
thought up a lie that would easily explain it.  
³A dog bit me when I was young. It died a week later from rabies. I had  
shots, and so didn¹t get sick, but it was very unpleasant.²  
³I wish you had told me Irene.² Arthur looked troubled. ³I would have  
put Gerald in the yard so he wouldn¹t bother you.²  
I waved off his protests. ³It¹s fine,² I assured him. I didn¹t have to  
continue farher. From down the hall came a shout.  
³Margaret! When¹s the food goining to be ready?²  
³When it¹s done!² She yelled back from the door. ³Back to work Irene.  
Arthur, if you don¹t want to help, go talk with your guests.²  
³I¹ll help,² He quickly said. He found a job for himself stirring the  
sauce. My feelings about the new distance between us were bittersweet. At  
least now I wasn¹t quite as tempted to tear his throat open. ³There are are  
too many curious strangers today. I¹m afraid they¹ll pin me up like a lab  
specimen soon.² He grinned at me as he spoke.  
³Oh, they wouldn¹t go as far as that.² I assured him before adding, ³If  
they did you wouldn¹t be able to write anymore books for them.²  
³My only value to the world is as a writer,² he mockingly despaired.  
³How depressing.²  
I kept silent, haunted by thoughts of my own. His life was full of worth  
next to mine.  
³Do you cook much?¹ Mararet asked. She seemed to have decided that  
introspection was not healthy for me. She had no idea how right she was.  
I turned my eyes to the garlic I minced as I replied. ³I cook all my  
meals at home. My mother was very suspicious of premade food, and passed the  
habit of not eating it on the me.²  
³She was a health nut? No offense meant, of course.² Arthur inquired.  
³No, she was just a very suspicious person. Her idea was that they could  
have done who knows what to the food before she ate it. If she cooked it  
herself, she knew exactly what happened to it before it went in her mouth.  
She would have grown her own vegetables too, if we had had room.² That was  
all a lie of course, my mother died when I was young.  
³I can barely imagine growing up like that. Our Mom was always too busy  
painting to actually cook meals. Margaret took over that as soon as she  
could.² Arthur laughed.  
³Someone had to clean the house,² Margaret retorted. They both kept up  
their cooking as they bickered. ³You might not be able to live in this house  
if I didn¹t clean it.²  
³You¹re a domestic angel, Margaret.² Arthur said teasing. The he added  
melodramatically, ³I shall treasure you always.²  
The cooking continued like this. They would relate family stories to me  
and tease one another as they cooked. I was a willing audience, enjoying  
every tale and laughing at most of them.  
Too soon, the food was finished. I helped carry it to the immense diner  
table and tried not to look apprihensive. The steaming bowl of pasta in my  
arms might look delicious to the humans, but it might as well be mud to me.  
When we were seated I was surrounded by young men. Arthur sat at the  
head of the table, several seats away. After grace was said, the boys joked  
loudly across the table. They tried several times to join me into their  
concersation. I politely ignored them. No one seemed to notice that most of  
the food added to my plate was simply pushed around. Some did entire my  
mouth in many small bites. Much to my disgust. The humans around me only  
stopped eating to talk. Much of the noise surrounding us was praises for  
Maraget¹s food. So it tasted good to humans.  
I could dimly remember enjoying food that I had made. Food similar to  
this. They were dim memories now, the only food I had known for centuries  
was sweet blood. Blood like what pulsed through the veins of every creature  
near me.  
I pushed those thoughst away. The last think I shoudl be thinkin of was  
feeding on my fellow guests. It only made it harder to ignore the impossibly  
tempting fragrance that I still smelled from the head of the table.  
Listening to other conversations helped to distance such thoughts.  
Slightly. As it turned out, most of the guests nearby were aspiring writers  
themselves, eager to bounce ideas off their comrades. One pair discussed  
what should define ³fine² literature. The more impassioned of the two argued  
that it was arbitrary; he had yet to find a ³literary² work that he enjoyed.  
The other retorted that he was a minority. There had to be some reason for  
those works being so famous. Several of the conversations around me proved  
that the cconviction with which an idea is held has no correlation with the  
amount of knowledge it is based on. I barely smothered a laugh after hearing  
one educated guest negate another¹s entire speech with a single fact. The  
speaker stuttered, trying to hide that he was unaware that a key point of  
his argument was false.  
Someone had brought their little girl with them. She toddled along  
beside the table, barely able to walk. The parents never noticed as she  
progressed farther from where she had been left. I watched her discretely as  
I listened. It was not often a human child was within my view. In her  
adventures, the baby leaned too close to the knife still displayed on the  
cutting board for my comfort. I scooped her up before she harmed herself. I  
tried to carry her on the cloth of my sleeves so she wouldn¹t feel how cold  
I was. She blinked in surprise at me before smiling in greeting. I laughed  
lightly in response, carrying her back to the table. There is something  
enchanting about the smile of a baby, even to a vampire.  
Arthur noticed us and stood up. ³Gracie, what have you been up to?² He  
teased the little girl. She smiled again, whether she understood what he  
meant I couldn¹t say. ³I¹ll tell her parents where she is,² he turned and  
quietly spoke to the parents. I bent my head to the little girl, hiding my  
eyes as I watched. They turned around to see who it was holding ther little  
girl. Glancing at each other, they smiled, satisfied that I was responsible  
enough. They quickly nodded to Arthur and he returned to me grinning.  
³There¹s still a swing set in the back yard, let¹s take her there.² He  
suggested. I followed him to the door, cradling the girl in my arms. I would  
be glad to put this warm human down.  
Once on the grass I set Gracie down, allowing her to walk on her own.  
When she decided to crawl instead Arthur picked her up. He settled her on  
lap as he sat in the swing. I sat on the swing beside his. ³Do you like  
children?² he asked.  
I studied Gracie as I replied. ³Not much. I don¹t see them often.²

Later...

I wandered past an upstairs window, at home once more. I probably had a  
silly smile on my face. It had been a few weeks since the dreaded dinner  
party. I had enjoyed it and Arthur had not seemed glad when it ended. Though  
it was arrogant to suppose that was because of me. The smile was a rememnant  
of a phone conversation with him, finished only a few moments ago.  
As I passed the winodw a flicker of movement caught my eye. I waitied  
until I was out of sight of the window, then watched to see what it was.  
Another movement within the trees behind my house dispelled the idea that it  
was the wind. My eyes focused on where they had seen something move. Barely  
hidden behind the leaves, another of my kind sat upon the ground. He was  
bent over a lap top, glancing up occasionaly to look at my house. To check  
that the windows were empty. His eyes were crimson.  
I moved silently down to the front door, careful to stay out of sight  
from the back windows. My mind raced thinking about him. There was no reason  
for him to be hidden. If he knew I lived here, he knew I was alone. Others  
of his kind didn¹t bother to hid themselves in my territory, they thought I  
was no threat alone. So he knew more of me. If so, why did he not introduce  
himself? Unless he wanted to remain unknown to me. I ignored the lap top,  
not knowledgeable enough about technology to know what he could be doing  
with it.  
All this crossed my mind as I glided out the front door and circled  
around. He only noticed when I spoke, standing behind him. ³What are you  
doing?²  
He started, turning around. His eyes were wide and he stood immediately.  
Why was he afraid of me? ³Don¹t go anywhere until you answer my question.² I  
warned softly.  
He turned and tried to run away from me. I was beside him an instant,  
holding him still. Despite my diet, I still have a predator¹s instincts.  
When something runs, I chase.  
I couldn¹t let him leave without knowing what he wanted hidden from me.  
³Tell me,² I commanded. He wasn¹t going anywhere until I loosened my grip.  
He glanced from me to the lap top screen, plainly worried. I looked to see  
what had caught his attention. On the screen were lists of calls, every call  
I had made in the last two weeks. Arthur¹s number was listed several times.  
His address was also displayed.  
A human feeding vampire with the address of the human I love who wants  
to keep secrets from me is not a good thing. I lost my temper and growled at  
him, ³What are you doing?!²  
³A-Annalee told me to,² He stammered. ³Th-they left yesterday.² I was  
gone before he finished speaking her name.  
I tried not to think. I could not think if I wanted to stay sane.  
Annalee knew where Arthur lived. She had left with someone else yesterday.  
No doubt to kill him. If Arthur died, Margaet would call me when she shared  
the news with everyone. After they found out he was dead, which might take a  
few days. Annalee knew that I would be there as soon as I could. She had  
heard our conversations over the phone, it was plain that he mattered to me.  
Running, as I am now, is faster than any car or plane. She knew that when I  
smelled her scent near Arthur¹s body I would know what she had done. I would  
hate myself for being the cause of his death. As I hated myself now. If I  
hadn¹t interfered with him, if I had left him alone, he would be alive. He  
wouldn¹t be dying at the hands of a vampire if I had never involved him.  
I try not to remember that run. The best I hoped for was to kill Annalee  
and whoever was with her before they left after killing him. The worst would  
be to arrive after they injured him and kill him myself with my bloodlust.  
My imagination made me its unwilling audience with images of Arthur¹s blood  
pouring and the awful sensation of thirst. I would be unable to resist his  
blood in the open. I would see his horrified eyes as I attacked. Hear him  
scream as I drank his blood and my venom burned his veins. Annalee¹s  
gloating face as she saw the despair his death would cause me. The most  
pleasant of these images was that of tearing Annalee apart and feeding her  
remains to the fire myself.  
As I saw his house I realized the night was dark. My misery had kept me  
from noticing the passage of time. Arthur¹s delicous scent tempted my thirst  
as I drew near. Annalee¹s ancient scent made me sick to my stomache. I could  
see Arthur¹s sillhouette standing in his room against a golden light. I  
could not yet smell his blood. Charging to the door I nearly ran into the  
guard Annalee had left.  
He stood a head taller than me and was bigger than Emmett, if that was  
possible. He grabbed me and kept me from going through the door. ³No you  
don¹t...² he began to say as I turned to him, snarling. His eyes widened in  
the dark as they saw my fury. Still he tried to keep his grip and obey  
orders. I didn¹t give him a chance to say anything else. I was beyond  
patience, possibly beyond sanity. Anything that stood in my way would die.  
He barely noticed as I tore his head off. Not permanent, but it would do  
for now. Before his decapitated head hit the ground I was inside. I hated  
every step of the stairs that kept me a moment longer. I think I tore off  
the door, but I don¹t really know. Arthur¹s scent hit me as it opened. I  
know my eyes were black as I crouched, growling at Annalee. She stood facing  
Arthur. Her smooth brown hair swung behind her as she laughed at me. ³Oh,  
Elizabeth, here he is.² She stepped aside, no longer between me and Arthur.  
³Why don¹t you kill him? You know you want his blood.²  
I ignored Arthur¹s horrified face as I launched myslef at Annalee. She  
met me figthing, both of us furious. She was as determined to kill me as I  
was her. With every breath of air that moved, Arthur¹s scent hit me as hard  
as it had the first time I saw him. I hadn¹t fed for a few weeks. I couldn¹t  
leave this time. Unless I killed Annalee, she would kill him.  
Our teeth were our main weapons as we fought. Not much is hard enough to  
pierce a vampire¹s skin. Our teeth are sharp enough. We can still feel pain  
and Annalee did her best to remind me of that. She sought to distract me as  
much as possible. The scent of the room had already halfway done that.  
Neither of us bled from the tears inflicted by the other. We only have blood  
if we¹ve fed recently.  
She ripped at my throat, trying to tear off my head as I did the same  
to her. The thrist that plagued me helped as I killed her as thoroughly as I  
would have killed Arthur. Annalee¹s body lay on the floor as her head  
dangled from my hand. I looked up at Arthur.  
³Irene?² He whispered. The step he had begun halted as he saw my jet  
black eyes. My thrist flared to life. The blood in his cheeks, th pulse  
thudding in his neck, so tempting. In an instant I could have the most  
delicous nectar in the world to drink and I could enjoy it as long as I  
liked.  
The only way I could keep from killing him then, now that Annalee was no  
longer trying to kill me, was to leave. I ran, taking Annalle¹s remains with  
me. I was stopped on the stairs by Edward and Alice.  
³Irene, calm down, he¹ll live.² Alice said soothingly. I must have  
looked wild.  
³Just let me go,² I said tightly. If I didn¹t go soon I would kill  
Arthur. Edward stepped to the side, pulling Alice with him. HIs eyes  
darkened as he heard my thirst.  
³Go. We¹ll take care of him.² I ran.

The first thing I did was build a fire, far enough away from the house  
that I could not smell Arthur. I fed Annalee and the guard¹s remains to the  
flames, watching until they collasped into ash. Then I hunted.  
I did not return to the house until I had fed as much as I could stand.  
I did not want to kill Arthur, but I could not eat more. The last deer whose  
blood I shed had not been at all tempting. I cleaned myself up a bit so I  
was no longer the horrific sight I had been before.  
I opened the door. The sky was dark again. A door opened above and light  
spilled out. Edward came downstairs in response to hearing my thoughts.  
³Alice is with him,² He spoke quietly, not that a human could have  
understood the speed we spoke at. ³She had a vision of what would happen so  
we came. We told him.² He answered my unspoked questions. A brief thought of  
pity for him, having to hear my thoughts through this, I opened the door.  
It wasn¹t the room where I had fought Annalee. That was too torn up.  
Instead Arthur lay on the bed of a guest room, asleep. Alice watched over  
him.  
³Are you alright Irene?²  
I smiled tiredly. ³I don¹t know yet Alice.² Looking down at Arthur, ³I¹m  
glad Jasper isn¹t here.² I wouldn¹t want him to feel my pain when Arthur  
awoke and saw me again.  
She patted me comfortingly on the shoulder. ³It will be alright Irene.  
Don¹t worry. I¹ll go get a car.² She darted out before I could argue wih  
her. Why did we need a car?  
Sitting in the chair Alice had vacated, my eyes roamed Arthur¹s face. He  
was so peaceful in sleep. The muscules of his face relaxed in sleep, his  
curious eyes closed. Hardly noticing, I breathed in tempo with him.  
My breathe stilled as his heart beat quickened and his eyelids rembled.  
He rolled onto his side and rubbed his eyes, facing me. He smiled,  
incredibly, as his eyes focused on me. ³You came back.²  
My eyes sought the floor, unable to meet his. The silence hug for a  
moment before he spoke again. ³Alice explained what happened.² He seemed  
uneasy.  
³They told me.² I spoke just loud enough for him to hear.  
³Irene, please look at me.² He pleaded. My head rose, obeying his  
request. I was only too glad to see his eyes again. Happier than I should  
have been. ³Is it true then,² he asked, ³you¹re a vampire?²  
³Yes.²  
He didn¹t speak as I looked back down. ³Why didn¹t you tell me?²  
I answered honestly, looking into his eyes. ³I expected you to think I  
was crazy then hate me.²  
He half smiled. ³I could never hate you and I don¹t think you¹re any  
crazier than I am.²  
³That¹s not saying much. You are a writer.² The tease slipped my lips  
before T thought.  
³Don¹t forget, you are too.² He teased me back, smiling finally. I  
laughed, finally relaxing.  
His next question made me tense again. ³Alice explained what you are and  
Edward said that the other vampire here hated you, but they didn¹t know  
why.²  
He let me answer the implied question. ³It¹s from when I was human.² I  
looked up, unable to stand not seeing his expression. ³Annalee, the one who  
tried to kill you, was part of the coven that changed me. Her brother was  
the one who did it. She hates me because I killed him. She was going to kill  
you to hurt me.²  
³You hate being a vampire so much?²  
I shrugged. ³I¹m used to it now. When I was young, all I knew was to  
feed on humans and I had a soft heart. I didn¹t like the others in the coven  
much and I was my father¹s only family. It was very hard.²  
³Would it hurt you so much if I died?¹ He frowned. ³I¹m just human. I  
don¹t see why you would do so much, you even ate at that dinner party. You  
risked your life fighting her. Why are you doing this?²  
He had finally asked me straight out. I was past lying now. Knowing his  
rejection would hurt for the rest of eternity I said, ³Because I love you.²  
He looked stunned for a moment, then slowly smiled. I doubt that I have  
ever seen a human happier than he was at that moment. I had never been  
happier than when he said, ³Good. Because I think I¹ve fallen in love with  
you.²

The engine purred softly as Edward drove us north, to visit the Cullens.  
Arthur sat beside me, watching the scenery fly by. Alice turned around in  
the passenger seat to grin at me. Edward rolled his eyes, smiling. ³He loves  
you, you know.² He said too quietly for Arthur to hear.  
³I know.² I returned to looking at Arthur, happily spending the entire  
drive watching his expressions.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you very much for reading.**


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